


In Moonlight/in Sunlight

by SpaceWall



Series: Dawn [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aman (Tolkien), Aredhel is Fantastic, Family, Fourth Age, Friends to Lovers, Genderqueer Character, Love, Lovers to Friends, Male-Female Friendship, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-19 14:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13706100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWall/pseuds/SpaceWall
Summary: Love is hard. Loving your literal god of an ex is harder. Loving your literal god of an ex while you yourself are a condemned criminal who is just trying to be there for your best friend and your family is the hardest. But Celegorm is trying. He's really, really trying.OrOver the course of a few hundred years, Celegorm relearns how to accept support and love, Aredhel relearns to let people in, Oromë learns some communication skills, and the Finwëan family drama takes a backseat to what's really important in life. Love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the most time consuming and even if it isn't the longest fic in this series, it felt like it. It was brutal to write, but I am now finally ready to share it with you. Further notes in the comments, but before we start:
> 
> This fic contains Aredhel, and accordingly some mentions of a past abusive relationship (i.e. Eöl). It also contains more mentions and discussions of sex than any other Dawn story so bear that in mind. If either of those things bothers you, please feel free to skip this entry in the series. I won't mind. Otherwise, enjoy!

Celegorm let the arrow fly between the antlers of the deer, and imbed itself deep into the bark of a tree. Yavanna might be upset about that decision, but surely she would have been more displeased if Celegorm had allowed the arrow to reach its mark. 

The deer looked at Celegorm with baleful brown eyes, and darted behind a bush. A second later, a dark-skinned (and fortunately clothed) mortal maiden crossed out from behind it. No matter what form, old or new, male or female, first- or second-born or neither, there would never come a day when Celegorm did not recognise Oromë. 

“I thought you were going to shoot me there for a second,” the Vala joked. It fell flat, and neither of them laughed. 

“This form is new,” Celegorm said, and moved to try and cut his arrow out of the tree. At a wave of Oromë’s hand, it was back in his quiver, like it had never been shot. 

“Not to me,” Oromë retorted, and for all Celegorm knew, it might have been true. After all, it had been a very, very long time.

Celegorm tried to walk away, but the Vala followed him. He spun around, ready to snap, but at the worry on Oromë’s face, all the fire went out of him. 

“Pronouns?” Celegorm asked, because it was polite.

Oromë looked down at their body. “This form is a ‘she’, certainly.” She gave Celegorm a sly wink. Once, when they had been friends, he would have loved her for that. But that was a long time ago. 

“Alright,” Celegorm said. He knelt down, and whispered, conversationally, to one of the flowers at his feet, “Can you get her to leave me alone?”

Oromë laughed. In this form, her laugh was high and bright, like the sky above them. But there were trees between Celegorm and the sky, as there always had been. 

“Vána doesn’t interfere in my affairs that way. And if she did, I don’t think that would work to contact her. A valiant effort though.”

Celegorm did not allow himself to become distracted. Could not allow himself to become distracted. It would be so, so, easy to fall back into the calm, soothing patterns the pair of them had once occupied. Celegorm knew, however, that if he allowed himself to fall into those patterns, he would never get the answers, the satisfaction, he needed from Oromë.

“Why now?” Celegorm asked, through gritted teeth. “I’ve been back for close to a century. Was it that you didn’t know, or that you didn’t care?”

“Has it occurred to you that maybe I needed some time to heal too?” Oromë snapped. Her form wavered in anger, revealing a hint of the true power of the Valar behind that mortal façade. 

The last time they had been together, Oromë had taken the form of a male elf, and he and Celegorm had screamed horrible, horrible things at one another. Not without reason. After all, they had and were about to horribly wrong each other. Celegorm had been about to become a kinslayer for the first time, had been about the leave Oromë forever. But he at least had done this for a very good reason. Oromë’s wrong had been for little reason. 

“You needed time to heal?” Celegorm almost yelled. He tried to reign in his anger as best he could. “After everything you did to me, you needed time to heal?”

“After everything I did?” She whispered, and though her voice could easily have been drowned out by Celegorm’s shouting, there was true power in her words. “Compared to what you have done, any wrongs I might have done you are nothing.”

Celegorm made an inarticulate noise of rage, and punched a tree. It left his knuckles open and bleeding, but at least it hurt nobody but Celegorm. That had been the goal, after all. Oromë made to go to him, but Celegorm took a defensive step back, and she relented. They stared at one another from across the width of the clearing. Celegorm pulled a length of fabric from one of his pockets, and wrapped it around his hand. The wound would heal, given time. 

“They weren’t nothing to me,” Celegorm told her, and flexed his injured hand to distract himself with the pain. “They were everything to me.”

Oromë bowed her head in shame. “They weren’t nothing to me either.”

Had either of them replaced the word ‘they’ in their sentences with ‘you’, it would have been equally accurate to what they meant. 

It was the custom of the elves to marry, only once, and always for love. Among the Vanya and Noldo in particular, sex and marriage were almost always one and the same. To the extent that one could be used as a euphemism for the other. But it wasn’t always so. In Arda Marred, love could be unrequited, marriages could happen out of duty not love, and sex could happen outside of marriage. And of course for the Valar, no such custom had existed in the first place. 

“What do you want from me, Oromë?” Celegorm asked.

She smiled radiantly at him. “I’d like to start again.”

“As what?”

“As whatever you want.” She reached up to undo the top button on her vest, clearly picking up on some signals Celegorm was not meaning for her to receive. 

“I have conditions.” He told her, averting his eyes. “For starters, I think we should begin as friends, and nothing more. I don’t necessarily think anything more is on the table, for me. I just- I don’t know if I can ever accept a relationship like the one we had. And even if things do progress in that direction, my family needs to come first. Understand?”

“I understand,” Oromë said, and she probably did. Oromë had priorities too, after all. A sister. A wife. “Anything else?”

Celegorm thought on this, and came up with one more condition. “Aredhel. She comes with us, sometimes.”

Oromë crossed the clearing, and offered him her hand. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

They shook hands, touching for the first time in the light of the sun.

\--

“I don’t understand what we’re doing, Celegorm.” Aredhel whispered this harshly, but inside she laughed, as Celegorm pulled her through the woods. It was the middle of the night, and moonlight lit their steps. 

“I want you to meet someone,” Celegorm whispered, conspiratorially. There was a small chance they were drunk. 

“Easy, Celegorm.” A third voice said, and Aredhel screamed, tripping over a tree branch in her haste to get back from the ghost. 

The figure was unmistakably Lúthien, and she glowed eerily in moonlight, like the unhoused spirit she surely must have been. Aredhel had never met Lúthien in life, but she had seen portraits, and she had met Elwing. She was beyond certain that it was Thingol’s daughter who stood before her now.

Celegorm pinched the bridge of his nose, long suffering, and said, “What in Arda, Oromë? Did I need to explicitly tell you that this form was not one I was okay with?”

The figure wavered, and a tall mortal man replaced her. That was when Aredhel’s brain put all the pieces together. Not just that this was Oromë, but the form the Vala had worn, and what it meant about Celegorm. 

“I don’t choose my forms,” Oromë snapped at Celegorm. 

He breathed a sigh, and, possibly for the first time Aredhel had ever seen, apologized. “I know that. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think that you’d still… wear… that one. After everything. You can go back to it, if you’d like.”

Oromë shook his head, and leant over to help Aredhel up. His green eyes were kind, and his short beard made him look like an unintimidating old man. The first word Aredhel would have picked for him was ‘kindly’. His hands were large, and calloused, as all hunters’ hands were. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Oromë told her, with a smile. He released her hand, and turned to Celegorm. “What are you doing out, at this time of night?”

“It was important.” Celegorm intoned, and leant up against a tree. “She said she needed to know.”

Aredhel wracked her brain for what she could have said that could have motivated Celegorm to drag her out into the woods to meet with one of the Valar in the middle of the night. Once she found the memory, it was easy to understand. She had asked Celegorm why they were so broken. So, he had brought her here, and shown her Oromë.

“Oh Celegorm,” she whispered, and releasing Oromë’s hand, she went to him. 

“Is he alright?” Oromë asked her, his concern clear. 

“I’ll take him home,” Aredhel told the Vala. “But as to your question, no. I don’t think he’s alright. I don’t think he ever will be all right.” 

She pulled Celegorm away, protectively, and when she turned back to look at Oromë, all that was left was the shadow on a hawk on the ground. 

\--

Aredhel met Oromë in the woods, dressed for a hunt. Celegorm wasn’t there. In the years since they had first met, Aredhel and Oromë had grown close, but it was still the case that they never met without Celegorm. 

“Where is he?” Oromë asked. The Vala wore the shape of a Moriquendi male, and Aredhel pushed the feeling of fury this inspired down. She’d seen this shape before, but was never any less bothered by it. 

“Being a fool.” Aredhel snapped, though it was not Oromë with whom she was upset.

“How so this time?”

Aredhel had been hoping he would ask. “Well, you know that Maedhros is back, I assume? He just married my brother, Fingon. And now everyone is upset about it, Celegorm not least of all.”

Oromë hummed an acknowledgement, and fiddled with the string on his bow. This was entirely pointless, as it was perfectly strung, perfectly crafted, and would never break or bend or lose any of its strength. Oromë was a Vala, after all. 

“You don’t seem upset,” He noted, as Aredhel sat and pulled her unstrung bow from her back. 

“I’m upset, but not with Maedhros and Finno. I’d be a hypocrite if I was, wouldn’t I? Maedhros is a far, far better person than Eöl ever was. I must have been blind not to see what they were to one another before. They’re almost obscene, the way they’ve always carried on being love-y dove-y.”

Aredhel had never before spoken to Oromë of Eöl, had never allowed his name to taint these shores when she could help it. But like as not, he would come up a great deal in the coming weeks and months, as people reeled from the revelation of her eldest brother’s love. 

“But Celegorm is upset?” Oromë asked, concerned. He sat beside Aredhel, and they both put their bows away. It wasn’t a day for hunting anyhow. There was rain in the air, surely, if not today that the next, Aredhel thought. 

“They all are. Turgon, Celegorm, everyone who ever disapproved of their friendship is livid about their marriage. Celegorm is a massive hypocrite, of course. He’s more than willing to spend time with me, so Eru knows why Finno should be treated differently.” Aredhel considered this. “Actually, forget what I just said. I know exactly why Celegorm holds Fingon to a higher standard than he holds me.”

“Why?”

Aredhel smiled, ruefully. “Because Fingon is associating with Maedhros, and I just spend time with Celegorm. It’s just like him to hold his brother’s partners to higher standards than his own.”

A look like shame crossed Oromë’s face, and Aredhel realised the brilliant opportunity that was before her. Celegorm wasn’t coming, but Oromë was here. That meant she could finally get the answers she’d been waiting so long for. 

“Can I ask you what really happened, between you and Celegorm?”

Oromë looked at the ground. “You can.”

Aredhel smiled wickedly. “Oh, but you won’t answer? Don’t think you’re getting away with that. Remember, I could always just ask him instead. Or some of the family. Would Curufin know? Maedhros? Nerdanel? Ah!” Oromë’s panicked look at Nerdanel’s name was answer enough.

“Don’t ask Nerdanel,” Oromë said, grimacing. 

“Then answer the question.”

Oromë looked up at her, and his form shifted, slowly, into the Lúthien-twin who Aredhel had met the first time she had ever met Oromë. 

“This is the form I was in when we met,” she told Aredhel, sadly. “He was so young then, so idealistic. He always dreamed of bigger, better things. I think I loved him? I don’t know. He would probably say that I didn’t.”

Aredhel knew that feeling. “Do you think you did?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how my people are supposed to love. Are we supposed to love like elves? Once and forever with no holds barred? Or are we supposed to love like the second-born? Fleetingly, temporally, seeking all the time we have and knowing that we will not have all of time.”

“Tell me what you feel.” Aredhel enticed, as gently as she could. The pained look on Oromë’s face was like an open book. There was no pain like that over someone you didn’t love. 

“I feel-“ Oromë broke off, into a sudden string of Valarin. “That, basically. In Quenya that would be something like, I don’t know, ‘stomach pain, but not the bad kind, the kind you want to feel’. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Aredhel told her. “I understand. A better Quenya translation might be ‘love’.”

Oromë whipped her head up. “You think so?”

Aredhel shrugged her shoulders. “I think so. I guess I wouldn’t know much about it. I mean, look at what I married.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Aredhel had suspected that Oromë and Celegorm had been lovers, but the confession had power, as all words did.

“Tell me the story, as best you can. Maybe we can work it out together.”

Oromë smiled at her, and began, “As I said, Celegorm was a young idealist. We began hunting together, training, travelling. Celegorm is smart, even though he pretends he isn’t. He’s just… clever. He can look at a situation, and not just understand what’s happening, but why, faster than a normal person could even see that something was happening. You know. You were there too. 

“It started as friendship, but over time, our shared interest in more became clear. It came to a head, and we preformed the marriage act, and Nerdanel-“ she turned deep red, like a horrifying sunburn, or an apple. 

Aredhel couldn’t help it. She laughed, and then at the look on Oromë’s face, she doubled over. She laughed until tears streamed down her face, as nobody but Celegorm had been able to make her laugh in decades. 

“What form were you in?” Aredhel asked through her laughter. It was important to be able to picture such things in minute detail to lord over Celegorm forever. 

Oromë leant in close and confessed, “the Teleri male, with the beard. I think you’ve seen it before.”

Aredhel had, and the detail only added to the hilarity of the situation. Poor Nerdanel, hair and face a matching red. Oromë in a big, male form, stark naked. Celegorm, unabashed, and probably overconfident in his abilities. 

Once she sobered up, Aredhel asked, “So what happened?”

Oromë pulled her knees up to her chest. She seemed very vulnerable. “A lot. Celegorm remembered that I have a wife. Fëanor found out, and was very, very angry. I don’t know if anyone other than Celegorm and I knew that Fëanor knew, though. He kept it quiet, for Celegorm’s sake. I was the one he was angry with. Just before the end, Celegorm came to me, and asked me what I would be willing to do for him. He wanted to know if I considered us married, as most of the Noldor certainly would have. I said no. I said I was loyal to my wife, and that my duty came first. Celegorm left. Of course, we didn’t know then what was about to happen. After Ungoliant and Melkor’s attack- I was so swept up in my duty that I rather forgot that Celegorm was even affected. By the time I remembered, the Doom of the Noldor had been laid down. Celegorm was beyond my providence.” 

“He thought Lúthien was you, didn’t he?” Aredhel asked, because someone needed to say it. “That was part of why he was so monstrous to her. It went beyond the oath. He thought that you were taunting him. Mocking him.”

“And then of course, poor, loyal Huan left and confirmed his worst fears.” 

Aredhel slid closer to Oromë, and they leant together, side by side. 

“He’s a good person,” Aredhel told her, “Despite everything. I really believe that. I don’t think I’d be able to live without him, which is probably why he lets me stick around. He’s pushed everyone else away. Everyone except me, Curufin, who probably needs him at least as much as I do, Nerdanel, and you.”

“Why Nerdanel and me, do you suppose?”

“Nerdanel because they need each other. You- well, I think you’re Celegorm’s one allowance. The one person he believes he won’t hurt. Or can’t hurt. Or maybe you’re the person it hurts him too much to give up.”

“Does it make me a bad person to hope that’s true?”

“No. It makes you a person.”

\--

Nahar was easily a couple hands taller than either Celegorm’s mare or Aredhel’s stallion, but the Vala riding him slowed to allow them to catch up. 

“How was the wedding?” Oromë asked. He was in the form of a very handsome Teleri, and Celegorm, as always, buried his feelings about this form deep.

“It was… nice,” Celegorm replied, totally failing to articulate any of his feelings. “They were both very handsome, of course. Everyone was there. Nobody got killed- I don’t really know what you say about weddings.”

Aredhel snorted a laugh. “Oh, well you wouldn’t, Mr. ‘I-am-resigned-to-a-life-of-bachelorhood’” This was a reference to a conversation they’d had some years ago now, about which both Aredhel and Oromë teased Celegorm mercilessly.

“Aredhel,” Oromë intoned, “how was the wedding?”

“It was… nice,” Aredhel repeated, in a mocking impersonation of Celegorm. Then she turned serious. “Though actually, it was. Gil-galad and Celebrimbor seemed very happy, and it was good to see the family so united behind their happiness. Everyone was there. Findis, Lalwen, Maglor. Everyone. Except our grandparents, of course, but that’s different. And nobody got hurt. ‘Cept this poor fool. Finrod hit him good, right here!” Aredhel demonstrated by swinging over to tap Oromë where Celegorm had been hit. 

“What did you do?” Oromë asked. Of course, Celegorm would have had to do something to get hit. 

“Well, there was the whole massive-betrayal-leading-to-his-untimely-death thing,” Aredhel supplied, and yes, perhaps that was something Celegorm had done that merited hitting him. 

“Ah,” Oromë said. 

Celegorm gave them a rueful smile. “To be honest, I think he was more upset that I’ve been avoiding him. And what Aredhel is notably leaving out is that after he hit me, he hugged me.”

Oromë didn’t say anything, but he gave Celegorm a look. If Celegorm hadn’t known better, he would have said there was pride in Oromë’s face. 

“The whole thing felt a bit like the healing of our family. Or bigger than that. The healing of the world.” Aredhel continued, dreamily.

Celegorm rolled his eyes at her. “Stop being so melodramatic. It was just a wedding. They’re not actually that uncommon.”

“Oh? When was the last time you went to a wedding? Curufinwë’s?”

Celegorm had actually been to a lot of weddings in Himlad, because as their lord, he’d been chosen to stand for many young ellons or elleths who had been orphaned by the war. Curufin could have done the same thing, but in general, he was too busy to try and care. Not to mention that Celegorm hadn’t really minded. He was a romantic, at heart. But he didn’t really want to tell Aredhel or Oromë any of that. 

“I don’t believe I’ve been to a wedding in any year of the sun,” Oromë answered. “And probably for a good while before that. What are they like, these days?”

Celegorm forced himself to answer. “Well, I can’t speak for most, but this was very traditional. Up in Himlad, we rarely bothered with rings or waiting periods or big parties. Everyone was far too concerned with not dying. But this was quite proper. They waited a year, Curufin made the rings, and Fingon and my mother stood for the match. Curufin would have done that as well, but since Gil-galad’s mother is dead…” He trailed off. 

“It made sense for them to do it this way.” Aredhel picked up the threads, thank Eru. “There was a feast after, where as previously stated, Celegorm got punched. There were some speeches. Elrond Peredhel and his wife gave one together, and Maedhros gave one- there was some reason for that, I think? It might have been an in-joke. Aunt Lalwen thought it was serendipitous, certainly.”

Celegorm knew the reasoning behind that. It was because Lalwen had given the one and only speech at Maedhros and Fingon’s wedding, surprisingly enough. According to Celebrimbor, it had been a good speech, though Celegorm refused to believe anything could be as good as the speech Maedhros had given in turn. He did not think words had so moved him in a very long time. Maglor had helped write that speech, clearly, but there was something about Maedhros as an orator, the clear passion he had felt, that was captivating. 

“Love is what binds Arda together,” Maedhros had said, with a smile on his face, and his eyes focused firmly on the dais. It had been impossible to know whether he was looking at Fingon, at Elrond, or at the couple to whom his speech was addressed. “The love of family, the love of friends, the love of spouses. We’re here today to celebrate that love.” 

He’d gone on to speak of Gil-galad and Celebrimbor’s courtship, but Celegorm had been stuck on the first line. Because love was what bound his world together. His love for Curufin, who gave him purpose, for Aredhel, who kept him grounded, and for Oromë, who let him dream. For Maedhros himself, of whom Celegorm was so proud that there weren’t words for it. 

“So, you had a good time?” Oromë asked.

“Something like that,” Celegorm muttered, and Aredhel and Oromë knew him well enough not to ask.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you still love Oromë?” Aredhel asked Celegorm one day, out of the blue. In truth, she didn’t know why she’d done it. Maybe because the unspoken truth between them was utterly suffocating and she was just tired of not being able to breathe.

“Of course I do. How could I not? I’m still one of the Quendi, aren’t I. We love only once. Or we’re supposed to.”

It was a belief that held strongly for the sons of Fëanor. Though traditional Quendi beliefs on marriage had largely relaxed over years of cultural mixing of the Silvan and Sindar with the far more traditional Noldo and Vanya, the effect was lesser for those who had always held strongly to tradition. Some days, Aredhel wished that her two dearest kin- Celegorm and Turgon- had been switched at birth, for Turgon would have thrived in conditions where love was based around tradition, where Celegorm had always floundered. As for herself, well, Aredhel was blessed to be of a line where her marriage was not respected or valued above all else. 

“I don’t still love Eöl.”

Celegorm took this revelation in stride. “Did you ever?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I absolutely adored him. But I don’t know if he ever felt the same. Maybe that’s in my blood. We’re a family of second-choices, the descendants of Indis. Second wives and second-favourite sons and second-choice kings.”

“And the descendants of Miriel are a family of losers. None of us could hold onto a crown or a jewel or a child or a marriage. All our happiness ends up in the hands of others eventually.”

“Do you really believe that?” Aredhel whispered.

“Do you believe that you’re destined to be everyone’s second choice?” Celegorm looked so genuinely sad about this that Aredhel couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Yes, but I am, we are. Your house can absolutely hold onto happiness. Look at Maedhros.”

“Look at Fingon. If you think he’s ever been anything other than Maedhros’s greatest desire, you’ve been missing the point.” Well, hadn’t Celegorm hit the nail on the head with that one?

“Well, look at Celebrimbor then. Caranthir. Maglor. Curufin.”

Celegorm laughed in her face, bitterly and unnaturally. “You’ve just successfully named every single member of my family whose happiness comes from members of yours.”

“Caranthir?” Aredhel demanded 

Celegorm looked smug as he retorted, “Finrod.”

Oh, no way he was getting away with that. “He’s not mine.”

“Line of Indis.” Celegorm sing-songed, “He’s more your kin than mine.”

“Oh piss off. We can’t count Arafinwë’s line. They show all of us up. Happy, well put together bastards.”

There was a pause, while they both composed further arguments and, in their usual style, rejected all of them. There was no cause for further disagreement. There had never really been cause for disagreement to begin with

“You’re my first choice, you know.” Celegorm told her.

“I know. You know that I’m not going to leave you, right?”

“I know.”

Aredhel reached back in the conversation, looking for the question she had started out wanting the answers for. “So… Oromë, huh? You still love them, so why are you pushing them away?”

“Because I can’t have them. Because no matter what I do, Oromë is Vána’s, first and foremost. Because I worry that if the rest of the Valar ever found out, they’d hate my family even more than they already do, and I won’t risk everyone else’s happiness like that. Because I hurt people, if I’m not careful.”

Aredhel could not allow that to stand unchallenged. “You don’t hurt me.”

“If we had never been friends, would have met Eöl? Or would you have stayed with Turgon, where you were loved, and happy, and safe.”

Aredhel grabbed Celegorm by the chin, and pulled him in very, very close. Deathly quiet, she whispered, “You don’t get to claim my pain. That’s not yours. It’s not Turgon’s, or Ecthelion’s, or Glorfindel’s. It’s mine, and Lómion’s, and nobody else’s.”

Celegorm bowed his head, and she knew that he understood. 

“Would you… dissolve the marriage, if you could?” He asked, after a time. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and Aredhel could understand why he’d done it. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “I don’t know. Because I love him, and I hate him, and I think about what losing a parent did to your father, and poor Lómion -“ She broke off, not because she had no more to say, but because Celegorm had interrupted her. 

“A pox on that!” Celegorm snapped. “Lómion lost a parent the day your husband murdered you. You cannot possibly believe that he would ever try and force you to stay with Eöl. He’d want you to be happy.”

“You’ve never even met him- how would you know?”

Celegorm raised an eyebrow. “He’s your son. And believe it or not, separation and remarriage is something our family has actually learned to do. Look at Gil-galad and Fingon and Maedhros. Not that I’m one to heap praise on that ninny of a brother of yours, but he was a thousand times better to Gil-galad than Finwë ever was to my father about the remarriage.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to do it while Lómion is… gone. If I ever get him back, maybe then.” That seemed so far away, so impossible, that it didn’t bear thinking about.

Celegorm seemed to be thinking, because his face turned dark. “You know if Eöl ever comes near you on these shores, I will kill him.”

Aredhel smiled. “You’d have to fight Turno for the privilege.”

“I could take Turgon.” Celegorm was being intentionally boastful to try and make her laugh. Aredhel loved him for it. 

“And my father.”

Celegorm pretended to consider this. “Ah, well, that might present a problem.”

There was a pause in conversation before Aredhel spoke again. “Would anything ever be able to fix what’s between you and Oromë?”

Celegorm shrugged. “I don’t think so. Because I don’t think I could ever risk the wrath of their kin knowing that my father is theirs to do with as they will. And I don’t believe we’ll see him again before Arda Remade. Though I would have said the same of Maedhros and Maglor, so who knows. But even if everyone in my family was free. If there was not an elf left in Mandos- save that rat husband of yours- I still don’t think we could be together.”

“Why not?”

“I won’t be anyone’s mistress. Not ever Oromë’s. I’d rather be alone than spend the rest of my life clutching at their bootstraps and begging for morsels of affection when I know that their bed, their heart, belongs to Vána. And it would be cruel of me to go behind her back. She knows of what happened between us, I know, but I don’t think she’d readily consent to us starting up again.”

Aredhel took in the determined set of Celegorm’s shoulders, the weary resignation on his face, and said, “You’re a better person than you know, Celegorm.”

“So are you, Aredhel. So are you.”

\--

“Gentlefolk, if I may say so, it is a pleasure to be travelling in your company once again.”

“If you say so my Lady,” Glorfindel said, with a wink. Aredhel was clearly joking, which was good. It would have been unspeakably awkward to travel with her again in seriousness. 

“You’ve never travelled with me before,” Erestor pointed out. This was true, and the look Aredhel gave Erestor said that she knew it. 

Ecthelion rolled his eyes. “Stop being so pedantic, Erestor. You know full well she meant us.”

They continued on this way, chatting and bickering, as they began their steady ride through the countryside of Aman. Aredhel hadn’t specified where, exactly, they were going, but she had asked- begged- Glorfindel to accompany her, and he was never one to turn down a beautiful lady in need. Especially not one who was an old friend. She’d said it was important, and Glorfindel believed her. Aredhel was many things, but a liar was not one of them. 

“Where, exactly, are we going?” Erestor asked, about a half-hour into their journey, when Aredhel had led them off the road, and into a meadow. 

Aredhel turned to look at him. She smirked. “I was starting to think that none of you had the guts to ask. Glad to know that the Gondolodrim aren’t all cowards. Glorfindel, I like this one. You should keep him.”

“I intend to,” Glorfindel quipped. It felt better than he had expected to receive Aredhel’s approval. By in large, the Gondolodrim were traditionalists, which meant that their marriages were in vast majority male-female bonds. Certainly, Turgon had been shocked, though not unsupportive, to learn of Glorfindel’s marriage. Aredhel’s unconditional approval compensated for that some. 

“But not enough to answer my question, apparently.”

Aredhel laughed wholeheartedly. “I’m getting to it, don’t worry. We’re going to meet with Vána.”

It was the second time in as many weeks that Glorfindel had been asked to visit one of the Valar. He was starting to wonder if this was just what people did in Aman these days. The first time at least, he had known why, but this time it quickly clear that Aredhel wasn’t going to tell them anything more. So they rode on, sometimes silent, sometimes speaking, until the sun went down, and the stars and moon rose. Vána did not like to be accessible to the general population of Aman, and it was more than a day’s ride to her halls. 

They made camp, Aredhel killed a rabbit, and Ecthelion made dinner. Sitting around the campfire, Glorfindel was strongly reminded of the last time he had been out in the wild with Aredhel, though these shores were far less dangerous than where they had last camped together. Aredhel and Erestor were fast to become friends, for his dry sense of humour seemed to amuse her greatly, and this made the meal a lively one. Glorfindel wondered if it was the similarity of Erestor’s wit to Turgon’s that made Aredhel so instantly fond. Erestor and Ecthelion went to bed early, exhausted from the long ride in a way that Glorfindel and Aredhel simply weren’t. The pair of them went a short distance away, to converse without disturbing their friends. 

“Why do you really want to see Vána?” Glorfindel asked her. There was always a good chance that being direct with Aredhel might get you a direct answer. 

Aredhel looked him up and down. “If I told you, would you repeat it? To Ecthelion? To Erestor? To Turgon?”

“That depends what it is, I suppose. Are you planning a kinslaying?”

Aredhel laughed morbidly. “No, but I am planning something. If it were for my own happiness, I would tell you, but mine is not the heart that rides on this gamble.”

This was curious, for a few reasons. First and foremost, if you wanted one of the Valar to do something for you, Vána was close to the last one most people would choose. In addition, there were very few people Aredhel loved enough to go above and beyond for. Her son, obviously, but as Maeglin was dead, that seemed improbable. Then there was Turgon, but his happiness was more or less settled, now that he had his wife and his daughter with him. So then who? 

It hit Glorfindel like a flash of lightning. “is it for Celegorm, Fëanor’s son? Is his the heart that rides on this gamble?”

Aredhel’s face immediately betrayed the fact that Glorfindel had hit the nail on the head, so to speak. She looked away, and Glorfindel could see the guilt she felt at giving up her cousin’s secret.

“That was why you didn’t invite Egalmoth. Because the sons of Fëanor killed him. And why you didn’t want to answer Erestor. Because I told you that he’d been at Sirion, when I first told you about him. But that was after you’d already agreed I could bring him, and you couldn’t change your mind.”

“Yes.” Aredhel whispered. “yes, to all of that.”

“Well,” Glorfindel told her, “you should probably tell me the whole story so I won’t inadvertently reveal any part of your secret, or his.”

She starred at him, open mouthed. Even now, weighed upon by years of sorrow, Aredhel was very beautiful. She no longer wore white, instead dressed in browns and muted greens. But there was still something of the innocence and purity she had once symbolized in her. Glorfindel wondered if she had ever really been merely innocent and pure, or if that had just been the imaginings of those who had seen her in those days. 

“Would you keep his secret? For me?”

“Yes. So long as I didn’t believe you were doing anyone harm.”

Aredhel laughed, emptily. “Well, I suppose that depends upon your definition of harm. Bodily harm, certainly not. Emotional, spiritual harm? Well, that all depends on how this goes.”

Glorfindel resisted the urge to shake his head at her. “Just quit stalling and tell me why we’re here. I’ll tell you when we’re done if I think you’re liable to do anyone harm.”

Aredhel addressed her feet as she spoke. “Celegorm has been my best friend, these last centuries. He was my only friend, for a time, until he introduced me to Oromë. Oromë is- has been- very kind to me. I had wondered for some years what, exactly, the nature of their relationship was. For a number of reasons, I had come to the conclusion they were once lovers.”

Glorfindel did a double take, and stared at Aredhel. That could not possibly be true. “What?” He asked.

“Shh. Don’t interrupt. I’m not done. I asked Oromë, and they told me that I was right. Oromë clearly has continued interest in Celegorm, but Celegorm is worried about what will happen if they restart their relationship. He worries it might be counted against his father, or that Vána might seek some kind of revenge. She found out the first time, after all.” She paused for a long time, long enough that Glorfindel began to wonder if she was finished speaking. “Celegorm is a good person. I know that I probably don’t seem like the best judge of character, but you must believe me.”

“What’s so good about him?”

“He looks out for people he cares about. But not just the people he needs, those who need him. If it were purely on a what’s-best-for-Celegorm basis, there’s no way he’d spend as much time with me and Curufin as he does. But I don’t think either of us could have survived without him. Even my own family could barely look at me, when I got back. Turgon couldn’t meet my eyes, Idril wouldn’t even stand in the same room as me. And my father just seemed so ashamed- but Celegorm found me, and he didn’t say anything, he just made sure I was eating, and drinking, and that I wasn’t alone. He didn’t tell me what to feel, or not to feel. He just let me be myself. Do you know what it’s like to know that the people you love have done monstrous, monstrous things?”

Glorfindel looked away. He didn’t know what that was like at all. In his life, all the people he had loved had been very good. “No.”

Aredhel smiled. “That’s good. I hope you never have to find out. Celegorm and I know what that’s like. To be powerless to stop the people you love from falling into darkness. We tried so hard to save them, Lómion, Curufin and Celebrimbor, but nobody and nothing could keep them safe from the enemy, safe from themselves.”

“What happened to Maeglin wasn’t your fault.”

Aredhel whipped around to face Glorfindel. The anger in her face burned him, and he looked away. “Then whose fault was it, Glorfindel? Who failed my son? Was it you? Did you fail to see how tormented, how alone, how broken he was? Or did you just not care? Was it Turgon who failed him? Or was it Ecthelion? Idril? Name the person who I should blame. And Eru help me, if you say the enemy, I will strangle you. That’s an absolute cheat. We shouldn’t be absolved of our sins just because someone else is worse.”

She wasn’t wrong, that was the worst part. If she’d been wrong, Glorfindel could have been secure in his convictions, could have at least absolved himself of wrongdoing. But they had hated Maeglin, had ignored and disliked him at the very least. When Glorfindel had learned, centuries later, that Maeglin had been a thrall of the enemy, not acting entirely under his own power, when he’d betrayed his people, Glorfindel had been surprised. They had blamed Maeglin, without questioning his reasons, because of who his father was. 

“We were wrong.” Glorfindel told her. 

“About what?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “In the way we treated Maeglin, in our vilification of him after. I’m sorry.”

“So you should be,” Aredhel snapped, but there was no real heat in it. She slid closer to Glorfindel, and rested her head on his shoulder. After a pause, she said, “I wasn’t joking about liking Erestor, you know. He’s got fire to him. If you need to tell him, for your relationship, I’ll understand.”

That was generous of her. Perhaps too generous. “If I need to tell him, I will. But I’ll try not to. You were right when you said it wasn’t our secret to tell.”

Aredhel bowed her head in acknowledgement, then returned it to its position atop Glorfindel’s shoulder. They sat in companionable silence, so quiet in fact that Glorfindel had to check to see if Aredhel had fallen asleep on him. But her eyes were open, and every so often, she would run her thumb along each of her fingers, a nervous habit that Glorfindel was not familiar with. 

“Do you love him?” Glorfindel asked, because he needed to. 

“Eöl?”

“Celegorm.”

Aredhel wrapped an arm around Glorfindel. “Of course, I love Celegorm. Not romantically, not sexually, but very deeply. He’s an extra brother, only we’re far closer to one another than we are to our actual brothers, these days. Valar help me, I want him to be happy. He’d do anything for me, and I just want to do something for him for once.”

“A beautiful speech,” intoned a voice to their left. Aredhel jumped to her feet, Glorfindel a second behind. They both swore, Glorfindel invoking Elbereth in the Sindarin manner, Aredhel merely shouting various crude words. Neither of them were carrying swords, but Aredhel quickly pulled a hunting knife from her belt. Then, just as fast, she dropped it, and knelt before the strange woman in from of them. 

She was one of the Valar, that much was clear. Not Yavanna or Aulë, who Glorfindel had met the week earlier and thought he would recognize. Nor Ulmo, who Glorfindel was given to understand rarely presented himself in forms appealing to the eyes of Eru’s children. But based on Aredhel’s reaction, the Vala’s look and on the place and time of the meeting, Glorfindel had a good guess. This was, most likely, Vána.

“Stand, child,” Vána said, and guided Aredhel to her feet. She was beautiful, golden of hair and skin. She was crowned with flowers, pansies and daisies and a single white rose like a diamond in the centre. 

“My lady,” Glorfindel addressed her, bowing deeply. 

“I am not Elbereth,” Vána told him, “though I am honoured by the mistake.”

It was impossible to tell if she was joking, or genuinely confused. 

Aredhel pulled herself into a more proper stance, rolling her shoulders back and pushing her hair out of her face. It was rare to see her carry herself as the princess she was, but in this moment, she had the grace and nobility of the best of her kin.

“My lady Vána, I would ask how you knew to come to us? I was under the impression that you rarely payed attention to the deeds of Eru’s Children.”

Vána sighed dramatically, “you support the hiding of Valinor once, and everyone thinks you’re the unfeeling, uncaring one forever. All of my kin can have favourites, even Namo, but when I do it, it’s weird.”

“Favourites?” Aredhel echoed, confusion in her voice clear. 

“Yes child, like your brother and Lord Ulmo, or Namo and Lúthien. We’re all moved to pay attention to different things. Well, all save Elbereth, who you named earlier. She looks over all Eru’s children.”

Glorfindel cleared his throat awkwardly. “Lady Vána, I believe that my friend is asking who among us has your favour.” Aredhel nodded in agreement. 

“Ahh,” Vána said. “that would be you.” She nodded toward Aredhel. Aredhel placed a hand over her chest. The look on her face was such genuine shock that Glorfindel half expected her to look for more people standing behind her. 

“How?” Aredhel whispered. Her voice nearly cracked. 

Vána leant up against a tree. Where she had stood, patches of flowers dotted the ground. “My spouse told me about you. They say that you are the sort of person who has stood against incredible sorrow, and that it has not at all dimmed your strength of spirit.”

Aredhel blushed. “I do not think that is particularly true.”

“I did not believe it myself, at first. So I… watched. I saw you defending your brother’s marriage to your father. That was very courageous of you, and very selfless. You might say that it is self-serving, to believe that those who have done wicked things ought to be welcome in your family, but I disagree.” Aredhel, who had opened her mouth to say exactly that, closed it again. “You didn’t do that for your son. You did it for your brother, because you have the courage in you to stand up for those you love.”

“I do not stand up for those I love often.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?” Vána demanded. Aredhel seemed unable to form an acceptable retort to this.

Glorfindel thought that, as a sworn defender of Turgon’s kin, it was probably his duty to help Aredhel in this endeavour. “My lady, if you have been listening to our conversation, surely you know what Aredhel wishes to petition you about.” Aredhel gave him a grateful smile.

Vána nodded. The tree she was leaning against burst into bloom. This was surprising for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that it was a maple tree, while the flowers were clearly apple blossoms. 

“When Oromë and I married, we were very young, and we didn’t know anything. You must understand- Eru’s children are taught what to be, they have parents to teach them, and beyond that- their natures are innate. Plants and animals are the same. But my kin are not so. Consider this tree. It knew how to be a maple. That is all it has ever known; nobody needed to tell it. We’re not like that. We’re as it is now. Strange, uncanny. We have to learn to be what we are, and we can be anything. That was why we once had such faith in Melkor. We thought that he could become something different than what he wanted to be. And maybe he could have, with sufficient motivation. I don’t know. Even now, when I am so many orders of magnitude older than you, I seem to know very little. But anyhow, we were young, and stupid. The people who married then, Oromë and Vána, they weren’t us. They didn’t look anything like one of the Quendi, though those are the forms that we both prefer now. They were feeling, really feeling, and living, and being, for the first time, and the power of it was overwhelming. They were of similar temperaments and dispositions. And they loved one another, very much. They had never felt such a thing before, such strength of feeling for one who was not close kin. And what do you do with strength of feeling? You marry. And so we did. It was good, for a long time. The sex was good. The companionship was better. But then Oromë found the first of the Quendi, and that was the beginning of the end for our marriage.

“You see, as we observed the first marriages among your kind, we discovered something. The bond we shared was not the same as those your people shared. That didn’t bother me. I liked what we had well enough. I still do. But for Oromë, that was world shaking. They wanted that kind of connection so badly, more than anything. So we came to an agreement. If there was ever someone who Oromë felt could give them that kind of love, I would let them pursue it. Then one day, Oromë came to me, in the form of a young elleth. I believe you know which one I mean. She said to me, ‘Vána, I have met the most impossible person today,’ and I knew then that I was losing her. Though predictably, it took Oromë and Celegorm a good few decades to figure it out themselves.”

Aredhel made a noise deep in the back of her throat. “So you knew, all along?”

Vána nodded. “I knew from the beginning. It wasn’t for decades that I realized Oromë hadn’t told Celegorm I knew. Idiots. So much suffering could have been avoided if they weren’t both trying to spare my feelings.” She rested her head back against the tree, looking above Aredhel and Glorfindel’s heads, into the middle distance. “I would never have wished that suffering on Oromë, nor on Lúthien who was an innocent in this matter. Nor on Celegorm, who, for all that is between us, wishes me no ill.

“You wanted to know if I would stop them from resuming their relationship. No, I would not. Oromë knows this. It’s Celegorm’s other worry that gives us all pause. I’ll not raise any kind of objection, but would the other Valar object on principle? I don’t know. It would certainly bother Namo, on account of the oaths that Oromë and I once swore to one another. Tulkas and Nessa would be alright with whatever made Oromë and I happy, as would Yavanna and Aulë, but I don’t know where any of the others would stand. I do know, however, that any who opposed it would blame Celegorm. Is he right that they would take it out on his father? I don’t know. I’m no supporter of Fëanor’s, but I would not condemn anyone for the actions of another, especially when I do not even condemn those actions.”

Glorfindel was no supporter of Fëanor either, but what Vána seemed to imply was horrifying. That any of the Valar would use their abilities to influence the personal lives of their kin through blackmail? It was appalling. It made him angry. He wondered if this was how Fëanor himself felt on a daily basis- angry with the Valar. 

“At ease, Glorfindel,” Aredhel half-joked, putting a hand on his shoulder. His anger was reflected in the harsh lines of her face. “Lady Vána I- thank you, for everything you’ve told me, and for the kindness you have shown my friends. And the kindness you have shown me. If you ever need to speak to someone who knows, well, I have a lot of free time these days, and I am not adverse to getting to know you. Just, one more thing- I’ll pass your answer on to Celegorm, but if Fëanor was ever returned, and out of the way, do you think Celegorm should pursue Oromë?”

Vána smiled widely, showing off pearly white teeth. She nodded once, and, without saying anything, dissolved into a cloud of white rose petals. 

“Elbereth,” Glorfindel said again, because he could. 

In the morning, they turned back for home, and never explained fully to either Erestor or Ecthelion what had happened, though both would eventually come to believe their own version of events. Ecthelion came to believe that Vána had bestowed some sort of blessing on Aredhel through the night, visiting her in a dream, while Erestor came to believe that Aredhel had been petitioning on behalf of her son, and had in the night learned that she had Vána’s support. He never shared this belief with Glorfindel, and Glorfindel took some centuries to correct the misconception. 

\--

Celegorm and Oromë sat, watching Aredhel and Vána run, laughing, across a field. Vána’s footsteps left flowers in her wake, while Aredhel’s only dug into the grass.

“It’s good to see her keep some company other than ours,” Oromë said. They were wearing a mortal form, short haired but beardless. 

“That may be the case, but I think we’ve also created a monster.”

Aredhel, unable to keep up with Vána, collapsed laughing to the ground. Vána doubled back to stand over her in mock disappointment. Oromë nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, they’ll turn on us at the most inopportune moment, sure as the ground beneath our feet. But it’s worth it to see them smile.”

Celegorm hummed in agreement, and resisted the urge to rest his head on Oromë’s shoulder.

\--

“I need your advice,” Celegorm confessed. He wrapped his hands tight around his teacup. So tightly, in fact, that Finrod thought he almost heard the porcelain crack.

“It’s good to see you, Celegorm.” When Celegorm raised an eyebrow, Finrod said, “truly, it is, but what could you possibly want my advice on? I can count the number of times you’ve taken my advice on one finger, never mind one hand.”

Celegorm gave him a roguish grin. “Well, it’s a long story.”

It was a long story, and no wonder. It had occurred over the course of more than four ages. Finrod found himself sitting forward in his seat, enthralled. He was a romantic- a fact that Caranthir never stopped mocking him for- and he was both shocked and pleased to learn that the wildest of his cousins was too. 

“My friend,” Finrod murmured, once Celegorm was done. “I am sorry.” He reached across the distance between them to take one of Celegorm’s big hands in his own. “how can I help you?”

Celegorm looked down. “The only people who know, outside of me, Oromë and Vána, are Aredhel and my parents. Aredhel likes Oromë, my father hates him, and my mother told me to ‘do the right thing for you,’ whatever that means. I needed someone more… objective, who would keep this secret for me. Whatever else has happened between us, I can trust you to be discrete in this matter. I just- tell me what you would do in my position.”

Finrod considered this, tried to place his feet in Celegorm’s shoes- or his heart in Celegorm’s chest, as it were. “I would seize every moment of happiness that I could. Your father is here now, for better or worse. He can’t be hurt in your place. And he may not like Oromë, but Eru help anyone who tries to tell you who you can and can’t love. Aredhel is with you, I’m with you, and don’t even try to tell me that your brothers wouldn’t stand with you.”

“I’d deserve it if they didn’t.” 

Finrod snorted. “Oh, probably, but Maedhros isn’t half as petty as you are. He’ll certainly give you shit for the way you treated Fingon, which you deserve, but he’ll also verbally destroy anyone who says anything against you. Maglor would be with you, of course, and Caranthir isn’t really half as tough and unfeeling as he pretends to be. He’ll be with you. I can’t really speak for Ambarussa, but I’ll bet you almost any sum of money that Curufin already knows.”

Celegorm snapped his head up so fast that Finrod jumped back. “You think he knows?”

“It’s Curufin. You live with him most of the time, he’s your favourite brother, and he’s very, very smart. If Maglor hadn’t been gone all this time, I’d peg him for knowing too, given how intuitive he can be. I’ll give you this- you’re a thousand times subtler than Fingon and Maedhros ever were, but there’s a limit to how much you can hide something this monumental.”

Celegorm nodded in acknowledgement. He ran a thumb along the outside of Finrod’s hand, and then unclasped their hands. 

Finrod spoke before he could think better of it. “Why are you hesitating, now that your father’s back? No matter what people may think, you’re not stupid. You knew without me telling you that your family had your back. So why wait?”

“I’m afraid,” Celegorm snapped, “Alright? I’m afraid to give them my heart again. I’m afraid to be alone again.”

Finrod pulled Celegorm into a hug. To his surprise, Celegorm didn’t pull away. He buried his head in Finrod’s shoulder. Finrod ran a tentative hand through Celegorm’s bone-white hair, and he leaned into the touch. 

“Celegorm, no matter how this ends, your family is with you. And I say that fully aware of the consequences of how badly it ended last time. You understand? If you give your heart to Oromë, you will not be any less our Celegorm. You don’t have to be just his, or just ours. You can be Curufin’s big brother, and Aredhel’s most loyal friend, and my stupid cousin, and the love of Oromë’s fucking life. You understand?”

Celegorm laughed, deep in his throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before, Ingoldo.”

“I spent a lot of fucking time with men and dwarves. I’d have to have been an idiot to not pick up some curses, you absolute tree-kisser.” Celegorm pulled back to raise an eyebrow at him. “It’s a lot more biting in Khuzdul.”

“I’m sure it is,” Celegorm said, in a tone more patronizing than anyone with his life experiences should have ever been able to manage. “I’m sure,” he muttered again.

Finrod didn’t think that Celegorm was just repeating himself. He pressed a gentle kiss to Celegorm’s forehead, and gave him the comfort he could.

\--

They watched each other for a long time. Oromë was in a new form, a Vanya elleth. Celegorm wondered if he should consider the new form auspicious. It was beautiful, of course, but Oromë always was. 

“Pronouns for this form?”

“She. You’ve been avoiding me, Celegorm.” Oromë accused. 

She wasn’t wrong, and Celegorm admitted as much. Then, he said, “is your offer still on the table?”

It was a testament to how in sync they had always been that Oromë knew exactly what he was talking about. “Hello Celegorm, it’s good to meet you. My name is Oromë, and I’m hoping to share the rest of Arda with the elf I love.”

“Hello Oromë. I’m Turcafinwë Tyelkormo Fëanorion, but everyone calls me Celegorm. I was afraid of love, for a very long time. But I’m tired of being afraid, and I love you. I’m hoping to spend the rest of Arda with my big, stupid, family.”

Oromë cocked her head. “Your big, stupid, family?”

Celegorm smiled. “My love and her wife, my courage and someday her son, my purpose and our brothers. The sculptress who shaped me. All of them.”

“Poetic,” Oromë whispered, which it was. Maybe the most poetic thing Celegorm had ever said. But because neither of them were people of many words, he didn’t have much more to say. 

Oromë crossed the clearing quicker than would have been possible for most elves, and swept Celegorm into a fierce kiss. This might have become something more, if the sound of someone clapping very slowly hadn’t interrupted them

They whirled around as one being to stare at Aredhel, whose hands were clasped innocently before her, and Vána, whose serene face gave absolutely nothing away.

“I’m disowning you,” Celegorm told Aredhel. “In fact, I’m disowning both of you. This is awful. You’re awful. You’re the worst people in my family and I say that as me.”

Aredhel snickered, wickedly. The look Oromë gave her could have killed. 

“At least it wasn’t Nerdanel?” Vána offered, but her face showed no remorse whatsoever. 

Oromë turned to Celegorm and said, “Are you quite sure you want to spend the rest of Arda with them?”

Celegorm considered blustering for Aredhel’s amusement, but instead settled on, “yes, quite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular request, Glorfindel and Erestor! Back by nobody's request but my own, Finrod, because if he's not one of your top-five Finwëans, you are objectively wrong. That dude went mano-a-mano (is that how you spell that?) with Sauron, and like yeah, he lost, but that is single-handedly (no pun intended) the most ballsy thing that any non-Fingon member of the house of Finwë has ever attempted.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so happy to have been able to share this story with all of you. As you've probably guessed, I threw all canonical descriptions of Oromë's appearance out the window, and added some characterization for both them and Celegorm. I also kept the sentiments if not the text of LACE. If anyone can identify the mythological reference in scene one, I will give them a digital high-five. 
> 
> Lastly-
> 
> I am not myself genderqueer, and if you are and my portrayal was inaccurate, I AM SORRY. Please know that I am ignorant and not intentionally trying to cause you harm. I'm also sorry if this fell too heavily into the genderqueer shapeshifter archetype. I honestly hadn't even realized that was a trope before I wrote this.


End file.
